Zhao Shu swallowed his saliva, and for a moment he could hardly believe his eyes.

He rubbed his eyebrows, and when he wanted to read it again, he found that Wang Mo had already put away the note.

It doesn't matter anymore.

Because the text on the slip of paper is only two lines, as long as you are not too stupid, you can basically write it down with a glance.

"Really......"

Zhao Shu shook his head and sighed secretly.

It turns out that what He Zhixing just said is true, Wang Mo does understand literature.

Wrong...... It's not that I understand, but the talent is not inferior to the piano at all.

He turned his head and wanted to say a few words to He Zhixing, but found that He Zhixing's expression was also a little wrong, as if he was stupid.

"Lao He? Lao He? ”

shouted several times before He Zhixing came back to his senses.

Zhao Shu smiled bitterly: "Lao He, I blamed you just now, I really didn't expect that Xiao Wang would also have such a talent in literature." ”

"Hmm."

He Zhixing nodded absentmindedly.

At this moment, his heart has long become unsettled.

He asked Wang Mo to participate in the literary exchange meeting, originally wanting Wang Mo to show some literary talent to stop Zhao Shu's mouth, and at the same time, he would not expose Wang Mo's identity.

But who would have thought that Wang Mo's shot was such a poem.

"Demons."

He Zhixing made such an evaluation to Wang Mo.

What is not a demon?

He originally thought that Wang Mo's last "Facing the Sea, Spring Blossoms" was the embodiment of the highest level accumulated by this child over the years, and to rewrite a poem of the same level, unless it was a big explosion of inspiration, it would take at least two or three years later.

After all, a poet may only have one or two works that he can get his hands on in his life.

I never expected this trip.

It was here, at this student-level literary exchange meeting, that Wang Mo casually wrote the second poem!

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it at all.

……

Twenty minutes later, someone came over and took Wang Mo's paper away and stuffed it into a box.

The people around looked at Wang Mo who was actually involved in writing poems, and their eyes were a little strange.

"Doesn't he play the piano? Why do you write poetry? ”

"Who was so blind and sent him the paper."

"It's good that this piano prince has a good temper, otherwise he would have turned his face."

"It's all about participation."

"That is, I saw that he was brought by Professor He, and the person who can walk with Professor He has some ability."

“……”

In a short time, the poems written by everyone were collected together.

The presiding student casually pulled out a poem from the box: "Now, let's see what kind of text surprise you can give us today." Well...... A poem is called: Tomorrow. ”

She said in a subdued voice:

"Tomorrow"

"They have money"

"They have the right"

"And we"

"Own Tomorrow"

This modern poem is easy to understand, but it has a profound meaning, and won a round of applause and a vote of 20 people.

The second, also a modern poem.

Titled: "The Sinking World".

The moderator reads:

"The Sinking World"

"It's a world that is about to sink"

"It's full of money and lust"

"Beneath the glossy exterior is a stench that makes people vomit"

"Such a world"

"Unless we wash it with blood"

"Not True"

"Doomed"

After such a modern poem was read, Wang Modu secretly gave a thumbs up, it was too bold to be able to write such a dark and depraved poem.

However, after looking around, I found that everyone was not surprised.

Even He Zhixing's eyes were unwavering.

All right.

It's that he thinks too much.

Perhaps in the eyes of the literati, this kind of thinking is nothing at all.

It's normal to think about it, I have seen shallow "feces and urine" poems in my previous life.

Even that kind of poetry can be published, what else can't be written?

Compared to the "feces and urine body", the poem full of decadence and depravity in front of me is simply not worth mentioning.

In the end, the poem received 18 votes.

Next.

The presenter still took out the poems from the box and read them in the established order.

I have to say that the students who participated in the literary exchange meeting this time are not weak in literature, and they can even be called Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

By the time more than 20 poems were read, there were already three people whose poems had received more than 25 votes.

One person even got 30 votes.

In an exchange meeting with only 35 students, it was able to get 30 votes, which is truly outstanding.

And the "Soil" written by this classmate, even He Zhixing showed a look of approval, obviously thinking that this poem was written well.

Many students began to whisper.

"This poem is wonderful."

"The artistic conception is far-reaching."

"Today's number one is him, right?"

"Who wrote it?"

"Looking at the style, it should be Senior Xiao's work."

"No, Senior Xiao's poem is full of agility, and this poem is mainly heavy, I think it comes from Senior Wu."

"If you look at the smile on Professor He's face, you should know how high the level of this poem is."

Some people even ran to He Zhixing in a state of excitement: "Professor He, do you think this poem can win the first place today?" ”

"Huh."

He Zhixing smiled and did not answer.

Until......

A few minutes later.

The host on the stage grabbed a note again and said with a smile: "This is the 28th poem we read today, so will this student give us a different surprise?" ”

The host opened the paper, just glanced at it, and suddenly his eyes were slightly condensed.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at it again.

He didn't say anything for a long time.

When the students at the scene saw the host's strange appearance, they spoke one after another.

"Xuanxuan, what's wrong?"

"Hurry up and read it."

"Isn't it so badly written, you're embarrassed to read it? Don't worry, it's all named. ”

The host Xuanxuan took a deep breath: "No, it's this poem...... It's kind of special. ”

"How special can it be?"

"Alternative poetry?"

The students laughed.

The host Xuanxuan didn't look at the expressions of her classmates, she took a deep breath, and then said seriously: "This poem is called "A Generation". ”

"A Generation"

"The night gave me black eyes"

"But I Use It to Find the Light"

Two sentences.

Come to an end.

Even when many students were still smiling and talking, the host had already finished his recitation.

Someone's smile froze on their face.

Someone's expression became dazed.

Someone froze in place.

Someone swallowed, his face full of shock.

But the only thing that is the same is that although the host Xuanxuan's recitation is over, many people still seem to be able to clearly hear the voice of her reciting the poem just now.

Those two short lines of poetry are like a lightning bolt that struck the depths of many people's souls.

It makes everyone's souls tremble.

Even after a long time, everyone still feels like their brains are buzzing.

"This poem ......"

"Oh my God."

"How so?"

Some poems are difficult to see whether they are good or bad, and even if no one interprets them, most people will find it difficult to even understand the meaning.

Some poems look good at first glance, but they don't have much meaning.

However, the song "A Generation" they heard, in addition to being easy to understand, was more and more charming, and the more they read it, the more they felt shocking to their souls.

These students are unable to describe the depth and value of this kind of poem.

"Who wrote it?"

"I can't write for the rest of my life."

Someone looked at He Zhixing: "Old He, did you make a move?" ”

In the eyes of the students, no one else can write such a poem, except for the trip of the literary giant.

However.

He Zhixing just shook his head with emotion: "It's not me, or rather...... I can't write such a poem. ”

One word.

It also made waves in the hearts of the students.

Professor He is difficult to write?

That......

Who wrote it exactly?

"Not me."

"Not me."

"It's not me, either."

“……”

It stands to reason that if a student writes such a poem, I am afraid that he will stand up and admit it as soon as possible, and gain the admiration of others.

But now no one has come forward, but they are all denying it.

Of course.

From beginning to end, no one doubted Wang Mo.

No one even looked at him.

Wang Mo smiled and said to He Zhixing: "Old He, let's go?" ”

He Zhixing nodded: "Okay." ”

One of the students was stunned: "Professor He, we don't know who wrote this poem yet?" ”

He Zhixing shook his head and said in a deep voice: "It's not important, since this student doesn't want people to know his identity, then naturally he has his reasons, why should we dig out his identity." As long as we know that he wrote this "Generation" is enough. What a "Generation", deafening, deafening, deafening......"

After speaking.

He left the lecture hall with Zhao Shu and Wang Mo.

Behind him, a group of students were in a stirring mood and had complicated expressions.

……

At this moment, in the WeChat groups and circle of friends of several top universities in Beijing, the news about the emergence of the "Piano Prince" in Qingbei is still spreading rapidly.

But no one expected that everyone had not recovered from this news.

There is another exciting news coming out:

[The literary club also has a hidden god]

When the news first appeared, many people dismissed it.

"Huh! Who believes? ”

"A piano prince has just appeared, and now there is a literary god soon?"

"It is estimated that the students at the literary exchange meeting were unwilling to be suppressed in their popularity, so they hyped up the fake news."

"It's too fake, when did the literary society fall? Actually engaged in such a gimmick. ”

At a time when many people are talking.

Suddenly......

There is a person who posted "Generation" to a WeChat group.

A few minutes later, the WeChat group exploded completely.

Half an hour later, the WeChat groups of students from several top universities completely collapsed.

Countless students looked at the simple two lines of poetry, and their hearts were shocked and difficult to add.

It's true.

It turns out that there is really a great god in the literary society.

With just one poem, a poem with only a dozen words, he conquered the unmath of the world.

But.

Who is he?

The third watch is over, good night everyone~~~

(End of chapter)